


My Brother's Keeper

by Jakaboi



Series: Protection Verse [7]
Category: A Heist With Markiplier, Markiplier Egos, Video Blogging RPF, Youtuber Egos - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Don't copy to another site, Egos AU, Family Angst, Gen, Protection Verse, Spoilers for some endings of A Heist With Markiplier, family arguments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-01-24 15:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21340309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jakaboi/pseuds/Jakaboi
Summary: Illinois’s adventures have taken him all across the globe, but when he goes back to find his younger brother incarcerated in Happy Trails Peniterntiary, where none of the inmates ever want to leave, could his luck finally have run out?
Series: Protection Verse [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/981840
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	1. Visitation

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely separate from the main plot, and current spin-offs of Protection Verse, but happens within the same universe. I may draw the threads together at some point, but for now it's something to try and help pull me out of my writing slump.
> 
> Let me know what you think.

“Yancy Harrison. You got a visitor.”

Everyone in the common room turns towards their leader in confusion. No one ever, as in never _ever _visits Yancy. Ain’t a soul in this whole damned world wants to waste their time coming to see him. But it’s fine. No really it’s okay. Yancy has it made in here. Room, board, games, friends, ain’t nothing that outdoor world can offer him that he don’t got right here. So who the hell is his visitor?

Visitation at Happy Trails Penitentiary is no contact, save for those who qualify for conjugal visits, so the visitor’s room is a series of windows with reinforced glass and a phone on either side for them to talk. A couple other inmates are already sat across from visitor, though they all turn, mouths open in shock as Yancy steps into the room for the first time.

“Middle window.” the guard directs him, and Yancy slowly approaches, freezing in place when he finally sees who is there.

A rugged button-up shirt in desperate need of an iron, hair that looks like it hasn’t even seen a hairbrush, let alone had one run through it, and between the two, a disgustingly familiar face. For a second Yancy considers just walking out again, he don’t need this bullshit, but before he can turn, the guard at the edge of the room barks at him to sit down and he flinches, quickly parking his butt in the sea.

Illinois Harrison sits on the other side of the glass, and watches his brother walk into the room and sit down. The younger brother leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and scowling at the window as the elder picks up his receiver and holds it to his ear. Yancy doesn’t move, glaring.

Illinois just waits, taking in his brother’s appearance. While Yancy wears striped pants, he only has a white tee on, a pack of cigarettes not well hidden in the folded up right sleeve. There’s are tattoos; a small box on the left side of his neck, and some kind of web of words peeking out from his left forearm.

After a few moments, Yancy finally sits forward, plucking his phone off the hook and gritting out the first words.

“What are youse doin’ here?”

Gruff and bitter, they speak of a silent restrained anger rumbling beneath the surface.

“You’re in _prison_.” Illinois’s voice crackles and sounds strange on the line, but it’s more than Yancy’s heard in a long time. “I think _I_ get to ask that question first.”

“Youse really don’t.” he points to the obvious tan line around his brother’s neck, just barely hidden by the collar of his shirt. “Been somewheres nice?”

“Yancy, what the hell happened?”

The inmate chuckles. “No.”

“No?”

“Youse think you can just waltz in here and I’m gunna open up to youse?”

“Yancy-”

“NO!” Yancy’s fist slams against the little table, while the glass between them visibly rattles. There’s a light sizzling beneath his fist as the inmate pulls away, his hand coming to rest in his lap again. “Youse don’t get to know nuthin’ no more.”

“I’m _sorry_ I left,” Illinois shifts, drawing his chair closer, “but I _had_ to. It wasn’t safe there.”

Yancy gives a dry and bitter chuckle. “Youse think I don’ know that?”

“I was going to come back for you.” Reaching forward, Illinois places his hand flat against the glass. A silly gesture reaching out to his brother, willing him to reach back. They can still fix this.

Yancy stares at the hand. There’s a painful screech as he pushes his chair away and leans back, free hand laid across his stomach.

“Bu’ y’didn’.”

“Yancy, I can help you but you need to talk to me, just tell-”

**SLAM**

Both of them flinch as the prisoner-side door slams open and a mighty voice bellows across the room.

“Yancy Harrison! You get away from that window _right now_!”

Two guards grab the inmate by the shoulders and begin to pull him to his feet. Illinois shouts for them to stop but stops short as Warden Murder-Slaughter walks into view, striding straight to the window where his fingertips brush against a small burn mark on the table while Yancy is dragged back.

“It ain’ nuthin’ Warden.” Yancy babbles, clearly panicked. “It ain’ nuthin’ bu’ nuthin’!”

“I wish I could believe that, Yancy.” The Warden turns, shaking his head with a weary sigh. He gestures to the door. “Take him to the Ice Box.”

“No wait! No!” Yancy’s eyes go wide and he twists and turns, desperately trying to break free as he begs. “I didn’ _do_ nuthin’! I didn’!”

Illinois jumps to his feet, slamming a hand against the glass and roaring for them to let him go, but the receiver hangs loose so his words aren’t even heard. He’s forced to watch as his brother cries and begs and pleads while the guards force him out of the room. The shouting and screaming go on long after Yancy is gone.

“BASTARD!!” the adventurer roars into the phone and the Warden turns, almost as though he heard. Old habits die hard and Illinois steps back, flinching on instinct, but scowling as the Warden steps forward.

He picks up the receiver, holds it to his ear, meeting Illinois’s eyes as he speaks firm and inarguably.

“Don’t bother coming back.”

_-click-_


	2. Break-In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When someone leaves a door open, it would be foolish not to walk through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your support not only over this fic but my writing as a whole. It means the world to know that people still want to follow on with what's going on in this universe.  
I'm having a great time figuring out this story, how it fits into Protection Verse (and related verses) and have spent the afternoon headcanoning over on tumblr about a character I intend to have the boys meet. (If you want the url feel free to ask)  
Hope you enjoy.

The click-clack sound of smart shoes on tile reverberates off the walls, and Illinois does his best to count the retreating steps of the security guard between him and entry door number three. Certain that he’s safe, he moves, silent but swift, scurrying up to the door, glancing to the camera on the ceiling as he goes. Sure they’re a risk, but Illinois would happily bet a hundred bucks that for whatever reason, the guard tasked with watching them at this precise moment is otherwise disposed.

Breaking into places where he’s really not wanted has always been somewhat of a speciality. Sure in the last few years, those people have been long dead and left ehind a series of deadly booby traps, but to say the adventurer had _never_ used his talent for more nefarious deeds would be a bit naive; after all, a person’s got to eat. Besides it’s the same basic principal as exploring those abandoned temples; the absolute worst thing to do would be to panic.

The door is sealed tight, and beside it there’s a numbered keypad. A numeric code? Really? It’s like they’re not even trying. None of the numbers appear worn, so either it’s new or it’s serviced frequently. In either case, there’s no clues as to the number. Let’s see. Four digits would be the minimum, most likely more since more numbers mean more security. Too many numbers and precious seconds are lost in an emergency, so probably somewhere between six and eight digits.

Taking a breath, Illinois prays to the deity that he doesn’t really believe in and presses the 4. No alarms, no buzzers, no one running to come and drag him out. Tentatively he tries another one, and then another. As he goes to press the fourth digit -

BZZT!

“Shit!”

Illinois flinches back as the keypad sparks. Carefully flexing his fingers, he wills the borderline painful tingles running down his side to stop as he glances at the door, raising an eyebrow. The lights on the keypad have shut down and the low hum of the electromagnet holding the door closed, that he honestly hadn’t noticed before, dies. Illinois reaches for the handle and pulls the door open with no resistance. It must have short-circuited.

Huh. Not what he was aiming for but he’ll take it.

Getting through the doors is easy, but navigating, not so much. Maybe if he hadn’t taken advantage of that door left ajar as he was being escorted out of Visitation, he could have found a floor plan, figured out a way in. But no. He slipped through that door and is too far down this rabbit hole now to turn back.

Illinois shivers, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. Geez it’s cold in here. You’d think a place with as much focus on pleasant prison experience as Happy Trails would keep the temp above that of a….fridge….

Ice box. That’s what the Warden had said. Take him to the Ice Box. Honestly the adventurer had thought it was some kind of colloquial slang for solitary but what if, and bare with him here, what if it was an actual icy room, one cold enough to bleed into the corridors around it?

“Yancy!” Illinois whisper shouts. As he continues along the corridor, he runs his hand along the nearest wall. It’s colder than it should be. “Yancy, are you in there?”

Around the corner is where he sees the door. Big. Hulking. Solid. Illinois tries not to think about how cold it must be inside if it’s this cold outside. The door has no keyhole, no keypad, no nothing. No hum of an electromagnet, no sign of how to get through it at all. Half expecting the door to explode in his face, Illinois reaches for the handle. The door swings open and ice cold air blasts past him.

The room inside is windowless, there’s frost on the walls, and even on the single bed with a flimsy blanket dumped on it. Not quite a freezer but pushing it for sure. Curled up on the floor opposite the door sits Yancy, legs drawn to his chest, arms holding them close and his head bowed. The inmate is shivering and Illinois can see his and his brother’s breath rise from the cold.

“Yancy!” Illinois calls out. Yancy raises his head, a dangerous look of defeat in his eyes and the pair of them share a glance before Yancy looks down again. “What are you doing? Come on!”

Illinois shivers, the cold running down his back as he continues to stand in the door, worried about venturing further in, in case the door should close behind him. Why isn’t Yancy moving? How can he stand just sitting there in such impossible cold?

“Well, well, well,” a familiar southern drawl from behind answers the question, Illinois instinctively swings round and firmly places himself in the way of his brother. “If it isn’t Illinois Harrison. And here I was hoping you were dead.”

Warden Murder-Slaughter stands in the corridor, his breath curling in front of him, hands on his hips and a worryingly chipper smile playing on his lips.


	3. Take Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past is a bitch, and history is prone to repeat itself.

Illinois pulls a gun from the back of his waistband, aiming the barrel squarely between the confused Warden’s eyes. Despite his appearance, Murder-Slaughter isn’t an idiot and steps back, arms raised slightly.

“Now, how in the _hell _did you get that past the metal detectors?”

“Funny story,” Illinois holds steady, finger twitching very slightly, ready to squeeze the trigger, “those things always seem to blip when I pass through them.”

“What exactly _i__s_ your plan here? Break him out?” Murder-Slaughter gestures to Yancy, still curled against the wall. “Go ahead.”

Illinois slowly backs up, shivering violently and refusing to turn his back to the Warden. Once he’s stood next to Yancy, he nudges the inmate with his foot. “Come on Yancy. We’re leaving.” Yancy doesn’t move, doesn’t even look up but there’s a quiet mumble in response. “What?”

“I sed NO!” Yancy raises his head and yells at his would-be rescuer, tightening his grip around his legs.

“….What do you mean ‘no’?!” Bending down, Illinois grabs his brother’s arm and tries to drag Yancy to his feet.

“Stop it! Stop!” Yancy struggles, twisting and turning to get out of the grip. “Fuckin’ stop!”

With only one free hand, Illinois can’t keep a hold, giving up and letting go. Yancy wraps his chilled arms around himself again, but leans back, looking away towards the bed. He shivers as his back touches the wall. Confusion and rage passes through Illinois as he watches, helpless while Yancy mutters something about not wanting to be free. That he’s better off here.

Murderous eyes turn on the Warden.

“What did you _do_?”

“You put a vicious dog in a cage, and it’ll only want to break out.” Murder-Slaughter has a wicked grin, his hands no longer raised in surrender, thumbs hooked over the waist of his pants. “But if you can _convince_the dog that the cage is the best place for it to-”

“He’s _not a dog_!” Illinois cuts him off, not wanting to hear any more.”

“No. He’s worse.”

“Stop it!”

“Did you forget what he did to your parents?” The Warden steps forward, passing through the door and drawing himself up to full height. “What he did to MY WIFE?!”

“He was a kid! He didn’t-!”

“_Yancy Harrison is an abomination!_” Enraged, the Warden blocks the only exit, accusatory finger jabbing at the adventurer he’d kicked out so many years ago. “Y’ both are! I shoulda killed the pair o’ you the day you turned up on our doorstep.”

Illinois’s feet shuffle, his sweaty hands struggling to keep a firm grip on his gun. They had never called him dad, or his wife mom. They’d always seemed so….distant. Like the two of them didn’t even want the boys there. So many fights. So much anger. Illinois had got sick of it, couldn’t take it any more. First chance he got, the kid had packed up and ran, leaving his little brother behind, but in all that time, he’d never once thought that Murder-Slaughter would turn on Yancy.

A bead of sweat runs down the side of Illinois’s face and it strikes him, the temperature is climbing, faster than it should. He glances to his side. Yancy is standing, hands still clutched around himself, his eyes having turned a stark white as they stare at nothing. The air around him is sizzling, and the ice around them is rapidly turning to drops of water.

“Yancy?”

Illinois backs away as he sees his brother’s blank gaze turn on the Warden. Anger and determination slowly grows on his face, a look Illinois had hoped he’d never see again.

Murder-Slaughter recognises it as well, stepping back and pointing at the inmate. “Don’t you d-!”

Yancy cries out as he launches himself at the Warden, tackling him, both hitting the floor with a harsh thud. The air fills with a mix of pained screams, angered shouts, and sizzling flesh as Yancy grasps tightly at the Warden, burning easily through the clothes in the way. There’s no flames, but smoke is rapidly rising from them and the cold of the room is almost completely gone, swallowed up by the still climbing heat.

“Stop!” Illinois panics, rushing forward to tear his brother off the Warden, only to flinch back, scalded the second he makes contact with Yancy’s skin. “Shit!” Desperately shaking the pain from his hands, he backs away. “Yancy stop!”

There’s no response, Yancy focused solely on the Warden beneath him. He’s lost in the moment, just like way back when. Can he even hear Illinois? Is his brother still in there?

Time is running out. Options are limited. They need to get out of here. Now. Reluctantly, Illinois raises his gun again, pointing it at his brother.

“Yancy, stop!”

No response.

He lines up the shot and, barely resisting the urge to turn away, Illinois squeezes the trigger.

** _BANG_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would really appreciate feedback on what you want to know about what happens next. Need to make decisions about what is being written next.


	4. Fall Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How can you find the words when you've not spoken in so long?

“That’s it bud. Nice and easy.”

Sturdy calloused hands guide Yancy to lay down, fierce sizzles spitting up from the cool metal beneath him. He’s tired, so tired, and his eyes shutter closed as Illinois closes up the end of the truck bed.

The inmate clutches his side, wincing and grunting at the searing pain from the heat of his hands. He should probably let it go but his head keeps reeling and he swears he can feel the blood just gushing out of him. Illinois shot him apparently, and it took him longer to realise than it should. The details are sketchy, only remembering dragging his fingers along a wall, feeling rather than seeing it start to catch fire behind him, when everything blanked and before he had a chance to hit the floor, Ill was there, scooping him up and dragging him away.

The choked grinding sound of an engine revs into life before everything shudders and shakes and Yancy retches. Head pounding, side screaming, chest hollow, everything hurts. Shrill sirens pierce the air, drawing near and whizzing past as the truck continues to move, carrying him away from Happy Trails Penitentiary.

He did it again.

....Three Days Later....

‘_I__t’s believe__d__ that__ the fire started here, in the__ heart of the prison’s__ inner c__orridors surrounding what __many consider to have been a controversial section of inmates’ rehabilitation. The Ice Box __was __essentially like a_ _walk-in freezer. __It’s only able to be opened from the outside __and is maintained at freezing temperatures, used as a means of __**literally**__ cooling the tempers of some of Happy Trails’ more __aggressive __inmates. __Though __there is little evidence towards the effectiveness of such rehabilitation, it was campaigned for vehemently by Warden Murder-Slaughter who remains in critical condition at a nearby hospital._

_Almost half of the Penitentiary burned to cinders before the blaze could be brought under control and f__ire crews are baffled-_’

-click-

The TV set goes black.

“You need to stop pouting.” Illinois crosses the room, placing the TV clicker far out of reach. Yancy watches, curled up with his feet on the seat of his chair, legs held against his chest as he continues to stare at the blank screen. He’s barely moved in three days, channel-hopping from station to station, seeking out the stories about his his latest fuck-up. Ain’t nobody dead yet, but when there is, Yancy wants to know.

“Shoulda lef’ me in dere.” he mutters.

Illinois sighs as he moves towards the kitchen. “That wasn’t going to happen buddy.”

“It was my home.”

“_That_,” the explorer points to the dead screen, “was your prison cell.”

“Can be bo’f.” Yancy mutters. Illinois either doesn’t hear it or chooses to ignore him.

The awkward moments between them fill with the clattering of cupboards opening and closing as the older brother moves around in the kitchenette, probably making a sandwich or something.

“You didn’t belong in there.” Illinois breaks the silence. There’s a tired resignation to his voice and Yancy turns.

“An’ how would youse kno’?”

“...What?”

“Youse left me.”

“Yancy I-”

“_Don’t worry, Yancy_.” the high mocking pitch betrays how much he’s come to hate those words he used to cling to like they were a life-preserver. “_I’ll come back for youse. __I__ swear__s__._”

“Now hang on a minute, you’re not being fair!” The knife is tossed into the sink with a clatter as Illinois storms across the room, coming into view and jabbing a finger in his brother’s face. “I was _always_ going to come back for you!”

Yancy just glares back at him, all of the pain and anger of the last decade burning in his eyes and boring into his brother. Under the gaze, the explorer falters, stepping back, turning away.

“I was _going _to come back.” He repeats, with a little less conviction.

Yancy chuckles. Illinois may be here now, but he’s been out in that big ol’ world out there for a long time and it’ll take more than a prison break to convince the inmate that he’s the reason his brother came back.

With a strained grunt, Yancy has pulls himself to his feet before moving to grab a coat.

“_Now_ where are you going?”As Illinois reaches to fuss, the younger brother just smacks his hands away and tugs the coat firmly around his shoulders.

“Out.”

He doesn’t have anywhere in mind. Just somewhere, anywhere; anywhere has to be better than just sitting here and having the same argument with Ill over and over.

Of course that answer doesn’t satisfy the explorer.

“Where?”

Zipping the coat closed over his striped top, Yancy looks to his brother, flipping him the bird before heading out the door.

“Be careful of your-!” The door slams behind him. “-wound…..” The explorer sighs, muttering to himself as he runs a hand down the side of his face. “Well done, Illinois.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I am so excited for what comes next, you have no idea!!  
I have next chapter all written out already but I may have to scrap and rewrite because I am certain I can do it better.  
Wish me luck!


	5. Siren Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A musical interlude or a random encounter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the tune of: Steven Universe: The Movie - [Drift Away - cover by natewantstobattle](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DMFnuqW0Fbzo&t=NDY5YjQ4MjYzZjU5YTQ4OWZkZWVlMTUzOWQyMDhiNzEwZDM5ZTZiYyxuRmd6UExJVA%3D%3D&b=t%3A-UDB8KkLIp1ALr43veqGVw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fsirenxsharp.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F189955879770%2Fmy-brothers-keeper-part-5&m=1)

The last chord plays and is met by a wall of silence.

Siren doesn’t dare to look across the audience, instead turning from the mic and waving for Steven to take over. He’s done.

It’s the diviest dive bar he’s played in the last couple of months. Several depressed looking people are scattered across a handful of tables, most of them nursing their second or third beer, most sat in silence. Nowhere else had been able to take the gig at such short notice. Maybe if the concert hall hadn’t dragged their feet on the booking they could have found somewhere a bit more responsive. Somewhere they’d be able to plug their tickets and get a couple bites. As it is, it’s likely they’re going to lose maybe a couple grand on this performance, provided the venue doesn’t pull out due to poor ticket sales.

Grabbing his water bottle, Siren gulps thirstily, already thinking ahead. Where could they go next? Somewhere big where they could pick up the lost revenue. Somewhere a little less depressing with some more-

*–*

The bottle drops, water splashing across the floor, though the singer barely notices as he suddenly turns and looks out again. There it was. That strange little click in his brain like someone flipped a switch. A connection or….or a bolt of inspiration. There was really no explaining it, never had been, all Siren knew was when he felt that click, he had to follow the feeling where it led.

Steven was probably in the middle of plugging something when Siren plucks the mic from his hand again, flapping at his best friend to get back. There was a groan or two from the audience but he ignores them.

“I know, I know,” he turns to gaze out across the crowd, desperate to see where the urge is coming from but getting nothing but dead-eyed patrons in return, “but I’ve got just one last song and I think it’s one someone out there really needs to hear.”

“Siren!” Steven hisses at him, arms thrown wide in confusion. There are no more songs. There is nothing else. Those were the ones they approved! That was the plan! Why does he have to be like this!

Siren dips to the side, the two of them discussing angrily in hushed voices as they throw together what backing they can for the song. Siren wins out, as he always does, and returns to the ‘stage’ just as it starts up.

The mic goes in the stand and Siren closes his eyes, listening, feeling, waiting. The opening goes on for what feels an age before it starts to come to him. Wrapping one hand around the mic, but allowing it to remain in the stand Siren begins to sing.

‘_Here in the nightmare, l__earn to survive_

_I’ll show you how it’s done_

_Here in the nightmare, keeping alive_

_J__ust till the morning sun _‘

The vision starts hazy, a little distant but which each note, with each word, it comes a little more into view. Two boys, teens, he can’t see their faces but knows that they’re brothers. One of them rushes around their shared room, throwing clothes into a bag while the other follows him around, constantly reaching out but not able to catch him.

Finally the older brother stops, turning and taking the other boy’s arm.

‘_T__hat’s what he promised__,_

_Happy Ever After_

_Then he gave me a smile, and left w_ _ith my _ _laughter_

_Happy to listen_

_Happy to wait’_

The older boy reaches up and ruffles his brother’s hair before continuing around the room. Within two minutes, the bag is packed and he’s left, the door slamming behind him.

‘_Happily watching him drift away_’

The younger boy doesn’t follow him.

‘_So I stand waiting all on my own_

_Under the endless sky_

_Counting the seconds, far from my home_

_As so many years go by’_

Years pass within moments. Arguments, fights, hatred, failures, all speed by in seconds, and though Siren doesn’t see it, he senses something truly awful that changes everything. Suddenly the boy is a young man, locked away, still waiting, still hoping, looking through a small window in a whole new room. One which he can’t leave.

‘_Worriedly wondering night after night_

_Is this how it works, am I doing it right?_

_Happily listens_

_Happily stays_

_All while I'm watching him drift away _’

As the music kicks in, Siren feels the shift and he lets go, losing himself in the song; in the sensations; in the sorrow. Everything beyond the stage fades away. The bar, the city, the concert; none of it matters, not any more. Nothing is there but for Siren and his visions.

Seven years. Seven years of hoping, of counting the days, of waiting and wishing. Seven years of lying to himself that his brother will come back and fix it all and it’ll be just like when they were kids and it was the two of them against the world. Seven years to accept, this place, this prison, was where he belonged. Seven years.

It hurts, but this is his home now. It may be a prison but he can still make the most of it, as best he can. Find new family, new friends. People who want him around. Who won’t leave him behind. So he accepts it, and more years go by.

‘_Out of the darkness there's finally news_

_About how this story ends_

_He finally came back_

_And t__ook __me_ _away_

_From a__ll my __fam__ily_ _and friends.’_

He waited for so long, so fucking long and he finally has what he wanted! All those years of waiting and his brother is here! He came back! He came back for him! He didn’t forget! So why does it hurt?! Why does he want to reach into his chest and tear his heart out just to stop the loss he feels inside?! Why can’t he be grateful?! Why?! Why did he ruin it all again?! What’s wrong with him?!

‘_Isn’t that lovely, isn’t that cool_

_Isn’t that cruel, and aren’t I a fool_

_I h_ _appily listened_

_And choose to stay_

_All while I was watching him drift_

_Drift away _‘

There is almost complete silence as the song ends and, as he blinks the light from his eyes, Siren notices everyone staring at him. Every one. Every single person in the bar, even Steven. There are no cheers, no applause but there isn’t the choking apathy of before either. In its place there is a kind of hushed awe hanging over everyone that was so silent you could have heard a pin drop.

Gripping the mic, Siren’s knuckles are white and he drops his hands, shifting awkwardly in place.

“Thanks.” he chokes out before quitting the stage. Steven quickly jumps to the mic to do his closing speech again but Siren doesn’t hear it, more focused on trying to stop himself from shaking. It was like coming down from an adrenaline rush, feeling restless and panicked as he paced back and forth.

After a few moments, Steven comes over to him and places a firm grounding hand on Siren’s shoulder.

“Si, what the hell man?”

“I know.”

“That’s the third time this month.”

“I know.”

“And what was with the sparkles.”

“The what?”

“Right as the drop hit. The air around you shimmered and,” he gestures vaguely trying to find the right word, “sparkled.”

“…..that’s new right?”

“_Yes _that’s new! What is _happening_ with you?”

“I don’t know. I really-” the singer grabs for another bottle of water, Steven passing it, watching as the singer cracks it open and downs half the bottle, “-I just know that I had to sing and-”

“ ’Scuse me?”

Steven and Siren turn to see scruffy man stood a short distance away. Blue jeans with a black jacket; his hair is in desperate need of a comb, and he’s got a good three-or-four-day-scruff going on his chin. His hands are stuffed into his jacket pockets but there’s a look of confusion and intrigue on his face.

“I was wonderin’….” he continues when neither of them respond, “Cou’d I buy youse a drink?”

The pair stare at him and Steven’s grip instinctively tightens on Siren’s shoulder. This stranger isn’t unhandsome. Sure he’s no Brendon Urie, but there’s a kind of ruggedness to him that Steven wouldn’t kick out of bed for wanting. Though he would probably never get the chance, not so long as he’s friends with Siren.

Catching sight of the starry-eyed look on his friend’s face, Siren chuckles and carefully removes the hand from his shoulder with a smirk, “I get free drinks. So how about I get you one instead?”

Steven blinks, cheeks going bright red as he mutters something about packing up their stuff and suddenly making himself scarce.


	6. Small Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward small talk leads to something at first sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a good time writing this, though I'm sure some of you will find it not quite what you were expecting.  
I'm having a blast writing what comes next, though it's getting a bit lengthy.  
Also before I update this again, I am wanting to finish JBM:I and post the penultimate chapter of ETMN.  
It's all getting worked on together so it shouldn't be another four month wait.

“Not a beer guy huh?” Siren points to the brown bottle in his drinking partner’s hand. They’ve been sat in near silence for the last five minutes, both of them feeling very awkward.

“No’ really.”

Yancy’s first alcoholic drink had been in Happy Trails when he was 17 or 18. It was clear, brewed in a toilet tank, and probably chemically resembled kerosene, but still it’d tasted a good deal better than the swill he’s holding right now. It’s bitter, it smells funny, and he’s spent the last five minutes trying to figure out how to get rid of it without being caught.

“Then what _is_ your poison?” Siren glances over at the spirits on the back of the bar. It doesn’t have the largest range, but there’s got to be something he’ll like. “Whiskey? Rum?“ Pausing, the singer raises an eyebrow. “….Jaeger?”

Yancy chuckles awkwardly. It’s been a while since he’s had to choose anything. Hooch only ever had one option, but even other things, the decision was usually made for you. Choice is one of them freedoms you give up to live in Happy Trails.

Not a spirit drinker, then. Siren absent-mindedly runs his finger around the rim of his wine glass. A nervous habit of his that drives Stephen up the wall, especially when Si loses concentration and makes the glass sing. No big deal. Plenty of people can ‘play’ a wine glass. That woman from that film Stephen loves so much, half the crew, but no one can apparently do it like he can.

Apparently, Siren can play a near-perfect note, and keep it going for longer than anyone. I say apparently because Siren’s never really….aware of it happening. His mind wanders and next thing he knows, he’s being snapped out of it and a couple minutes have gone by.

Not this time though. He’s focused on his own drink. Red wine, obviously. Subtle, sweet, full-bodied, a little cold for his taste. Maybe…

Picking it up, Siren offers it forward.

“Try this.”

Yancy is a little caught off guard. “Wha’ is it?”

“Do you trust me?”

Siren’s eyes almost seem aglow as he gives a smiley-half-smirk and Yancy’s stomach does a flip, a light blush creeping across his cheeks.

The smell from the glass ain’t strong, specially not compared to his usual hooch, but it’s rich, kinda fruity, and is making his head swim. Well summin; is. The beer is gently pried from his fingers and replaced by the wine, but the inmate barely notices until the rim of the glass is being pressed to his lips.

It’s very different than what he’s expecting, and much more familiar a sensation that that chilled dull beer, sliding down easy but somehow making his flipping stomach go crazy.

“What do you think?”

Siren looks so hopeful, so earnest, so...so… Yancy’s tries to answer, but the words get lost along the way to his mouth and all that comes out is some kind of confused, “Uuh...?”

Siren gives a knowing nod, sitting back with a smirk. “Definitely a wine guy.”

“Si!”

The shout comes from across the bar, Stephen frantically waving for the singer from near the crew entrance. He better not have locked himself out the car again.

As he stands, Siren pats his new friend on the cheek, and gently flicks the wine glass making it ring. “You finish it.”

With a wink, Siren disappears but Yancy barely notices, fingers tightly gripping the glass, intently focused on calming his heartbeat and head, double checking he’s firmly seated and not about to fall off the stool. When it strikes him the wine is still in his hand, he immediately takes a large swig. It doesn’t help.

Lowering the glass, there’s two pieces of paper in front of him, held out by Stephen.

“Wha’s dis?” he asks as he takes them.

“Tickets to the show on Saturday.” Stephen chuckles as he sees the look on tall, dark, and not-unhandsome’s face as he stares at the tickets. It’s a familiar mix of awe, adoration, and pure attraction. Everyone who comes into contact with Si wears it at some point or another. There’s just something about the way the singer holds himself, or speaks, or sings, or sways his hips, or….or just…just something. It draws you in, wraps you up, and if you’re lucky, it never lets you go. “The second one is for your brother.”

Yancy’s head snaps up in shock.

“How’s he know I gots a brudah?”

“No idea.” Stephen pats Yancy on the shoulder reassuringly. “But I have fifty bucks on him being a secret wizard.”


	7. Callback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There may be something there that wasn't there before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **To the tune of:** [The Greatest Showman - The Other Side](https://youtube.com/watch?v=Wk008ADh4iY)

The crowd is electric, shouting along with a song they clearly don’t know the lyrics to. Dancing and jumping and vibing to the beat, everyone is living for the performer on stage. Everyone, that is, except for Illinois Harrison.

Though he had snuck out to a few concerts in his teen years, that was always more about rebelling than ever really enjoying the music. Honestly, he’s never really understood the connection a lot of people seem to have with it, and this guy is no different.

Illinois glances towards his baby brother. Yancy is clearly uncomfortable, hands buried deep in his pockets as he does his best to keep out of the way of those around them. Still, just like everyone else, he’s looking at the singer with awe. If he didn’t know any better, Illinois would be worried his brother might be under some kind of spell.

Siren Sharp, as the posters proclaim him, stands front and center on the stage, dressed entirely in black. Black t-shirt, open black button up pushed up at the sleeves, black jeans, black converse, and heavy blue eye make up; all topped off with short black hair. It’s too much.

It’s obvious he’s not new to this. No one works a crowd like that without having some experience with it. The guy’s a born performer. Every vocal kick, every spin, every reach towards the audience as he cradles the microphone; it’s all a ploy to draw them to him and make them believe he loves them. And Illinois seems to be the only one who doesn’t buy it.

He doesn’t know who this ‘Siren Sharp’ is but he’s bad news, and after a couple hours, as the last notes of the night finally play, Ill grabs his brother’s shoulder. The sooner they leave the better. Yancy glares at him and pulls away, instead pushing through the crowd.

“Yancy!” he hisses trying to follow, though he’s not quite as nimble at getting through. When he does catch up, they’re near a door guarded by a member of security.

“Oh no! No!” Illinois throws an arm in front of Yancy and points at him. “You are _not _going backstage.”

Yancy just stands, one eyebrow raised at his brother, hands still in his pockets. “Is dha’ so?”

“Yancy and guest?” The doorway is open and a young woman stands there, looking at them expectantly.

“Dha’s me.” Yancy scoffs at his brother, easily pushing past him and heading straight through the door. With a groan, Illinois has no choice but to follow, though he pauses in the doorway, sticking his head out again and addressing the member of security.

“You heard me tell him ‘no’, right?” The security guy shrugs. “Helpful.”

The backstage area is pretty hectic, everybody dismantling that what they can get away with while Siren gives his typical goodbye speech on stage. More than once Illinois has to dodge, stop, or catch something as he follows after his swiftly moving brother. He doesn’t know where they’re going, but he has a sneaking suspicion. And boy does he hope he’s wrong.

Sure enough, they wind up by the changing rooms. Their destination, the door at the end has a piece of paper blu-tac’d to it with the name ‘Siren Sharp’. Being so far behind, Illinois actually comes in half way through a conversation.

“-finkin’ of changin’ it.”

“Uh-uh.” The singer peels off the button-up shirt and throws it into the corner of the changing room stretching his arms and adjusting the t-shirt underneath as he turns. “You are forbidden. And this,” he gestures to the strapping man who’s just walked in, “must be your brother.”

“How-?” illinois looks back towards the stage, “How did you beat us here?”

Siren gives a shrug as he runs a hand through his hair. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

“I thought you were a singer.”

“Steven!” Siren ignores him, bellowing to the open doorway.

“What?!” comes a distant reply.

“Less hair gel next time!”

“Noted!”

Patting his cheek, the singer turns and perches on the edge of his dressing table as he looks between his guests.

“Well you definitely got the looks.” Siren winks at Yancy who bites his lip trying not to smile. Illinois glares at them.

“Why are you flirting with him?” he points between them.

“Well I’d flirt with you but you have these grump lines,” Siren points to the edges of his forehead, “right here. Not really my thing.”

Yancy snorts while Siren smirks and Illinois raises his finger ready to put this punk in his goddamn place. Instead he pauses, takes a deep breath and sighs.

“We’re leaving.” Grabbing his brother by the arm, Illinois tries to pull Yancy towards the door, but the inmate resists.

“I ain’ leavin’.”

“You’ve been out for less than a week and already you’re messing around with a _con artist_.”

Siren frowns as he crosses his arms. “None taken.”

“I wanna stay!”

Illinois scowls at him but doesn’t let go of his brother, giving a yank to try and make him move. “What do you even think can happen with this, Yancy? You’re a _criminal_!” The last word is shouted and he watches as it hits Yancy like a freight train, the his younger brother’s face dropping. Illinois immediately regrets it. “I didn’t….”

When Yancy pulls away, Illinois doesn’t fight, letting go of his arm. That’s not how he meant it, but it’s sure what it sounded like. No getting away from that.

“I just,” the adventurer speaks slowly, “want to keep you safe.”

There’s a click from the doorway and the brothers turn to see Siren stood in front of the now closed door. The sound from outside is significantly quieter, though the three of them can definitely hear some kind of music.

Illinois raises an eyebrow at him. “Why did you close the door?”

“For some privacy.” Siren tries to reassure him.

“You best not be trying to kidnap us.”

Yancy isn’t paying either of them much attention, instead glancing around, confused at the increasing sound of music around them. “Do youse guys hear that?”

“I’m trying,” Siren pinches the bridge of his nose, “to offer you a job.”

“And you had to lock the door for that?”

Siren slams a fist against the doorframe beside him.

“_In here, right now_

_I'll put the offer out._

_Not gonna to chase you down_

_To make you see it.”_

He lowers his hand to lay it against his chest.

“_You run with me_

_And you can keep him free_

_from all that history, those walls he’s been in._

_It’s not quite typical, don’t be so critical_

_It may sound crazy, you need a little crazy_

_You can play ‘sensible’._

_Capture eventual._

_Or you can come and work for me._”

Siren steps forward, seemingly unbothered by the highly confused looks the brothers are giving him as he looks between them.

“You’ve got a record. I can respect that.” he gestures towards the door, “Half my crew have their own pasts, but it doesn’t matter. In my crew we look out each other.” he pins them both with a firm glare. “We’re _family_.”

Siren looks to Yancy and continues as he walks towards the inmate,

“_Don’t you want to get away_

_From the same old part you’ve had to play?_

_Cause I got what you need so come and stand by my side,_

_I’ll help you live on the outside_

_So you can do you what you do,_

_Or you can stick with me_

_Stay in your cage, or finally take the key._

_Oh-!”_

Siren has almost reached Yancy when Illinois’s hand on his shoulder cuts him off, forcefully pulling him away.

“Okay my friend let me just cut right in. I hate to tell you but _that_ won’t happen.

So thanks but no,” he shoves the singer away and purposefully steps between them, “It’s time for _us _to go. We can survive the life you say we’re ‘trapped in’.”

Turning, he tries to take Yancy’s arm again, but the inmate is incredibly confused. Siren is singing, and his brother is talking weird, and frankly he doesn’t want to be near either one of them right now.

“Yancy can-!” Siren begins but Illinois rounds on him, finger raised and slowly advancing on him.

“Now I admire that whole show you do. It really _is_ something," he throws a thumb over his shoulder to his Yancy before singing,

“_My brother, he’s got me._

_He don’t need you to cut him free._”

Illinois raises his hand to shoo the singer away.

“_Go find some other guy to woo._”

The room is silent.

Siren stares at Illinois, mouth partially open in shock. Illinois’s eyes widen slowly as it dawns on him what has just happened. Yancy stares between both of them, genuinely concerned at what the hell he’s just witnessed.

“Are youse guys okay?” the inmate asks.

Siren points at Illinois, “You sang back.”

He shakes his head. “No I didn’t.”

“Why the fuck did you sing back?”

“I didn’t sing!”

“Youse were bof singin’.”

“STEVEN!” Siren shouts to the door and within seconds a frustrated Steven throws the door open.

“For god’s sake Si, I’m-!” his anger dies pretty quick as he sees the worried looks staring at him. “What?”

“It happened again.” Siren says.

“It what?”

“It happened _again_ and _this one-_” he angrily jabs a finger into Illinois’s chest. “-sang back.”

The adventurer bats his hand away. “Stop _say_ing that!”

“Fuck’s sake.” Steven grabs one of the bottles of water sat just outside the door and head straight for Siren, half-shooing, half-pushing Illinois away. “Why were you _singing_?”

“I don’t know!” Siren cracks the bottle open and throws it back, swallowing half of it way quicker than he probably should, “I was, I was offering them jobs, and my head felt like...weird and-”

As Illinois steps back, Yancy takes his arm and pulls him back a little, the two of them watching the singer and his friend. The two of them are talking like this isn’t the strangest thing they’ve seen, which somehow makes it seem even weirder.

“Why were youses singin’?” Yancy mutters, not wanting them to overhear.

“I don’t know.” Illinois isn’t sure how to explain. It was like an instinct, only more base. It hadn’t even occurred to him he was doing it until after it was over. There was no thinking, no questioning, it just happened and honestly, it kind of left him feeling a little exposed. “They don’t seem to either.”

Both Siren and Steven are hissing at each other in not-quite-hushed voices, but there’s definitely a panic to their tone as they glance to Illinois. When their eyes meet, they all look away.

“Ill.” he turns to Yancy, his brother seeming a little conflicted as he speaks, “Maybe havin’ a job ain’ such a bad idea.”

Illinois inclines his head. He’s loathe to admit it, but Yancy’s right. Even with luck on their side, there’s only so far the two of them will get before some kind of authority, whether cop or bounty hunter, catches up to them. That is an encounter that won’t end well for anyone. Hiding in plain sight could serve them pretty well. Who knows? Maybe that luck of his brought them here for exactly this reason.

Illinois turns to the others.

“Sharp,” he calls, drawing both their attention to him, “Tell me about these jobs you’re offering”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot wait for you to see what is coming next.


	8. The Epicentre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It never rains, yet it pours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Steven Universe: The Movie - [Other Friends [cover by natewantstobattle]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OzOxGd93Inw)

“Geez, Sharp!” Illinois stands in the doorway to Siren’s dressing room, purposefully staring at a nearby wall.

“_Th__is_ is why the good lord invented knocking.” Siren chuckles as he pulls on his red shirt and starts to button it up.

“For a brief crazy moment I forgot who you were.” He shakes his head. “You’ve got fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks.”

“And I mean _minutes_,Sharp. Actual _human_ minutes that the majority of the population observe.”

“Got it.”

The door clicks closed.

Several months have passed since Siren first hired the Harrison brothers and they’ve blended into the crew like they’ve always belonged, which in Siren’s opinion they do.

Illinois is working in some kind of admin/managerial role. It was a natural decision when everyone realised he would happily call Siren out on his bullshit, and couldn’t be sweet-talked. It’s also taken quite a load of stress off Steven’s shoulders, and he will frequently refer to Illinois as his ‘saving grace’.

Yancy was a little harder to place. Siren _had_ wanted him in security. Partially because the guy was pretty intimidating and had a glare that could turn milk sour, and if it would’ve mostly placed him in front of the stage while Siren was performing, well that was a totally unintended benefit. Unfortunately big bro had said no, so for now he was a bit of a gofer, helping out with everything from minor haulage, to audio, to lights. And after a few stories of prison riots, they added personal security in there as well. Just in case.

After the shirt, on goes the black waistcoat and Siren runs his fingers over the fabric. A new outfit for a new character that just doesn’t want to leave his head for some reason. All week he’s been having having trouble sleeping over this reveal, waking up in a cold sweat, stomach flipping over and over. Even now, his anxiety feels higher than it should be, but he’s not worried. This isn’t his first show.

*-*

Adrenaline spikes and Siren throws himself to the floor as something attacks. It misses, thank god, and the singer hits the floor with a harsh thud.

The attacker looms over him, in black denim pants, neon-green belt, and a neon-green crop long-sleeved turtle neck. Wild brown hair with a streak of white looks really out of place when compared to his surprisingly well-groomed moustache. Though none of this really sticks in Siren’s mind as much as the unhinged smile on his face and the dagger in his hand.

“HELP!” Siren screams, praying that someone will hear him.

“A-ha!” The attacker cackles, beaming down at him, “I _knew_ it was you!”

“STEVEN!!” Siren tries to move away but is quickly pinned in place by the attacker’s shiny black and green pleather platform boots stomping on his chest.

“You _really_ didn’t want to be found did you, meeeeh….” he makes a sound like a distressed cow and frowns, ”Meeeh…now that is odd.”

The door slams open as Yancy bursts in, confusion quickly shifting to fury and he’s two seconds from launching himself across the room. As luck would have it, Illinois is immediately behind him and grabs his younger brother round the chest, before he can do anything stupid.

“Le’ ‘im go!” Yancy growls across the room.

“Who’s this?” The intruder almost sounds gleeful as he looks to the guests.

“Sharp?” Illinois calls.

“I don’t think I can breathe.” Siren wheezes. Being pinned isn’t so painful, but the panic is pretty high and definitely not helping.

The green weirdo leans over Siren and blows a long raspberry at him before giggling, “Always with the melodramatics.”

This is bad, Siren is under immediate threat, and while he’s managing to keep a lid on it, Illinois can feel that Yancy is on the verge of a literal meltdown if they can’t sort this out quickly.

“Are these your new friends?” the intruder gives a wink and a smirk, “You always _were_ a charmer.”

“Ill…” Yancy mutters.

“I hear it,” Illinois responds.

All of them can hear the rock/jazz swing music that’s started up.

“_What did he say about me? What did he say?_

_W_ _hat did you do without me? What did you do?_

_Did you play games without me? What did you play?”_

Siren covers his face with his hands and screams internally. His heart is pounding in his ears, half certain he’s about to die under this guy’s heel. Of course he’s singing! That is the only possible way this can get any worse! So of course that’s the way its going!

The boot is lifted as the intruder strides towards Yancy and illinois, looking them both over. Finally the singer is free! A window Siren intends to take advantage of.

“_Did you think all this time that I wouldn’t find out about __**you**__?_

_F_ _ear not I know this story, been through it over and again,_

_A__nd __it’s nice __to finally meet his other friends._”

His maniacal grin grows wider and he gives a sweeping bow, the dagger still in his hand cutting through the air.

“Make him stop, Sharp.” It’s no secret that Illinois is not a fan of the unsanctioned singing situations that seem to crop up around Siren all the time.

“You know I _can’t_!” Siren snaps as he drags himself to his feet. He feels about ready to throw up. “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed _t__he__ knife_!”

“Oh hunni,” The weirdo coos as he holds the dagger aloft, “_This_ isn’t a knife.” Hanging from his belt is a smallish leather bag which he opens up. In goes the dagger, and, somehow, _out come__s a shortsword_! He wields it with ease as he closes the pouch again, swinging the blade at his side before raising it towards the brothers. “Now _this _is a knife.”

“Who are you!” Siren screams at him.

“Who am I?” he asks incredulously, “_Who am I? What are you even saying?_

_I’m __a loser of __the__ game __we __didn’t know w__e __were playing._”

His eyes glaze over slightly, the music and the mania stop and for a second it looks like it’s over. All too soon though, it’s back with reinforcements.

“_But __you’ve__ found another game, one where y__ou seem__ to win_

_J__ust keep in mind._”

“_I’m out of my mind_” Siren clutches at his head as he unknowingly joins the song, “_W__hy__ did this madness begin!_”

“_Trust me_-”

“STOP!!” Illinois’s shout shuts it all down, the singing, the music, everything ceases immediately. Honestly, he wasn’t expecting it to work. “This situation is fucked as it is, we do _not _need singing.”

“Well _you’re_ no fun.” The intruder pouts.

“Who are you?” Siren demands, leaning kind of heavily against a table, arms shaking, panic still high. “What are you doing here? _Why_ are you trying to kill me?”

The intruder stares at him, eyes narrowing as though he’s trying to see something beneath the surface.

“You’re not pretending are you?” He glances around, taking in the room as though he’s actually seeing the fear, panic, and anger he’s causing. “Oh dear.”

Moving slowly, he carefully lowers the sword to the ground before straightening up again. His hands are up, showing them he means no ill intent.

“Where are my manners?” With a rather impressive flourish he half-bows, placing a hand upon his chest. “Remus Bersk, and I’m afraid that I’ve made a terrible-where’s he going?!”

Siren has reached his limit with this bullshit. Something is wrong. Several things. Several big things with bells on and while the attempt on his life is definitely a factor, there’s something else. Something worse, and he doesn’t know what it is, or how to figure it out, or how to fix it. All he knows is he needs out of there.

When the sword is on the floor and Remus is distracted he dashes for the door and just leaves. The Harrisons shout for him but he just keeps going. He’s not sure he could explain to them anyway.

Outside the room everything’s normal, everything is in place and Siren can hear the buzz of the audience. There’s still a show waiting for him. Everything will make sense when he sings. It always does. His music always points the way.

As he reaches the wings, Stephen’s waiting and he grumbles about Siren being late _again_, while the prop lady pushes his globe cane into his fingers, the final part of his new outfit. Striding onto stage, he swings it in a wide circle and tries to lose himself in the moment.

The crowd goes wild and Siren can’t help the slight smirk. This is his realm. This is where things makes sense. The band are starting up and Siren looks out over the crowd.

Even with all the noise, a quiet voice from who-the-fuck-knows-where speaks to him and chills him to the core.

_I had so many plans _ _f_ _or you, Phantom. But now you’re not worth the paper I wrote you on._

Siren frowns. Everything seems smaller than it should. The crowd is still there, his crew are in the wings…..so why has he never felt so alone? The cane slips from his fingers, though he barely notices.

Everyone knows something’s wrong when Siren misses his cue, but nobody is prepared for what happens when the cane hits the ground. Clutching at his stomach, Siren starts violently coughing, dropping to his knees. Some of those in the front row scream when they realise he’s coughing up blood.

Siren’s vision is blurred, even before his eyes roll into the back of his head and he collapses to the stage floor. There’s a lot of noise around him, screaming, a lot of panic, several sets of feet scrabbling across the stage towards him. He’s vaguely away of being shaken but Siren is barely wavering on the edge of consciousness, buried under a bone-crushing numbness that’s slowly consuming him.

As he passes out, he really hopes he’s going to wake up again…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone confused as to what's going I direct you to the Ripple in chapters 135 - 139 of Not As You Know Them
> 
> The story shall continue soon in Not As You Know Them


End file.
